


The Inkwell

by Lanerose



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6705964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanerose/pseuds/Lanerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fakir tries to write his way into Ahiru's pants.  Because serika_san called the entire fandom closet perverts, and it was funny to make Fakir one, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inkwell

**Author's Note:**

> This is set post-series and (in my mind) several years down the line so they're both older. Ahiru has also magically been restored to being a girl. There wasn't really a good time to explain either of these things, though, so just go with it. Originally written for the Princess Tutu holiday exchange 2007, for serika_san.

_The knight cupped her right breast in his left hand, his right hand resting against the small of her back as they stood together in the darkened room. The cool night air had chilled the firm flesh, and hardened her nipples. He ran his thumb lightly over one. She gasped, a sudden inhalation of breath that became a low moan. Her face flushed, her eyes closed, and her mouth formed a perfect little 'o' that sent wild thoughts jolting across his imagination. He rubbed her nipple again, with a little more pressure. Her knees went weak, but he kept her up, supporting her on his arm and shuffling them closer to the bed._  
  
_"I… I've never…" She stuttered as he grabbed the collar of her unbuttoned blouse and pulled it down, free from her arms, and tossed it to the floor. The lady blushed, turning her face away. He touched her chin with his free hand, tilting her head back until he could kiss her freely, swallowing her words. He unhooked her skirt, pulling the zipper down and letting it fall to the floor, and pushed her gently onto the bed._  
  
_"Fak –"_  
  
"What are you writing, Fakir?"  
  
He jumped when she said it. In his defense, he'd just been getting to the good part, and she wasn't supposed to be back for another hour. Fakir glanced at the clock. Or maybe she was on time. He hastily shuffled the sheaf he'd been working on in amongst the rest of the paper on the desk as he fought to keep the color from rising to his face.  
  
"Nothing worth reading," Fakir said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, moving his lap more under the desk as he turned to face her.  
  
"Fakir shouldn't say things like that!" Ahiru balled up her fists and waved them determinedly above her head. It might have been more impressive if Fakir wasn't staring at her chest and being grateful for the fact that she never, ever noticed when he did that. Her small but well-shaped breasts bounced beneath her yellow sweater. "Fakir is a wonderful writer!"  
  
"Zura!" Uzura popped her head out from behind Ahiru, and Fakir was glad that he hadn't been tipping his chair back because he definitely would have fallen over. She beat her drum twice and smiled up at him.  
  
"People who've never seen the ocean always think the pond is big," he grumbled at Ahiru, turning to look out the window. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Ahiru huffed, crossing her arms under her breasts and pouting, deliberately looking away from him. Her boobs looked bigger when she supported them that way. He wondered what she'd look like in a real princess's corset. Maybe nothing but a corset. Maybe –  
  
"- and just because I've never seen an ocean doesn't mean Fakir should be so mean to me!" Ahiru mumbled, turning her back on him. Her long ponytail whipped across her tight ass, hitting against her side before falling back.  
  
"Zura zura!" The small green-haired girl said enthusiastically. She jumped up and down, and hit her drum a few times as Ahiru started toward the door.  
  
"Ahiru…" Fakir said helplessly, reaching out towards her but not quite daring to get up from his seat. She looked back over her shoulder, and her face softened as she smiled at him.  
  
"Come on," she said, "I've got a great breast for you."  
  
Fakir's mouth went dry. He didn't know what expression his face was showing because he couldn't quite find oxygen. Ahiru's brows tightened together, and she frowned a little.  
  
"You don't like thighs or wings, right? Oooo," she moaned, "I'm sorry if I got it wrong, Fakir, but I really thought breast was your favourite part of a turkey!" Ahiru clasped her hands together in front of her chest as she turned all the way around to face him. Fakir pulled in a deep breath.  
  
"No, you're right. I'll be down in a minute." Fakir shook his head as he spoke, and turned into an excuse to lower his flaming red face out of her view.  
  
"All right!" She exclaimed, turning towards the door and pushing Uzura through it ahead of her. "Come down soon, while it's still warm!"  
  
When she was gone, and the door closed behind her, Fakir slammed his head against the desk.    
  
Maybe he was being taken too literally.  


 

~

  
  
_He paused a moment at her entrance, a sword dangling over the only sheath it called home. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer to her, crying out as his steel slipped deep within her velvet warmth. She…_  
  
Fakir tapped his pen against the desk a few times and stared at the page. He got up from his chair, and walked across the room, and came back and sat down again. Then he tapped the pen against the page again before throwing it across the room and crumpling the sheet up to throw into the fire as well.  
  
Obviously this wasn't working.  
  
Fakir scooped up the pile of crumpled papers and headed downstairs. He could already hear the banging of pots and pans from Ahiru and Uzuru in the kitchen, making dinner. The dark-haired man walked through the open door and headed straight to the fire.  
  
"Fakir…?" Ahiru stopped stirring the pot on the stove as he crouched by the open grate and began to feed the flames.    
  
He looked up at her, her beautiful eyes looking worriedly down at him, the undone buttons of her blouse plunging the neckline just enough to give him a glimpse of cleavage, to hint at the top of her bra. One of her hands rested against her hip, angled down towards territory he had yet to approach. He swallowed, and turned to throw the crumpled papers more viciously into the heat.  
  
"I wish you would stop doing that, Fakir," Ahiru said as he tossed the last of the lot in. "Or at least let me read what you write before you set it on fire. You always write so well, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think it is! Maybe I could help you make it better."  
  
Fakir sat back on his haunches and watched the orange-yellow light flickering before him to keep his mind off her bare, slender legs right beside him. Ahiru could never read what he had written. If she knew that about him, knew that he thought about her that way, and that when she stood that close to him all he really wanted was to run his hands up under skirt and panties and –  
  
"-kir? Fakir!"  
  
Fakir tipped backwards and fell awkwardly to the floor as he realized just how close Ahiru had suddenly gotten. She followed after him on her knees, and oh he really shouldn't be thinking about her on her knees anywhere near him and –  
  
She lay the back of her hand gently against his cheek.  
  
"Are you feeling all right, Fakir?" She asked, turning her hand so that her palm cradled his face, her thumb so very close to his lips. "You look all red, well more red than you usually look after being close to the fire, and your face is all hot and –"  
  
Oh, he was  _hot_  all right.  
  
"I'm fine," Fakir said brusquely, turning away and getting to his feet. Her stare against his back was more blistering than any fire he'd ever seen. Ahiru waited a moment longer, and Fakir held his breath.  
  
"Well, if you say so." She got to her feet and headed for the stove, only to stop halfway there. "Oh!"  
  
"Oh?" Fakir looked at her over his shoulder. She had clasped her hands together just under her chin and was smiling at him.  
  
"I just remembered!" She walked over to the kitchen table and bent over it, giving him a fantastic view of her pert little rear as she reached for something. "Uzura brought this home for you. I hope you don't mind that I wrapped it in cloth, but I couldn't find anything else."  
  
She turned back to him and triumphantly offered him an oblong package. He peeled away the fabric, and stared down at his old sword. Fakir glanced at Ahiru, and then looked down at Uzura.  
  
"Fakir love-love-zura!" The small girl shouted, rocking her hips back and forth as she beat on her drum. Fakir wasn't sure, but it almost looked like she was winking at him.  
  
Symbolism sucked.  


 

~

  
  
_She loved him. He loved her. The rest didn't matter._  
  
_~~Even if they died virgins.~~_  
  
Fakir hastily scratched out the last line, letting his pen fall to the table. He glared at the paper like it had killed his children and grandchildren and entire lineage down through the ages. Which in a way it had. Well, not really, but that wasn't the point.  
  
Being around Ahiru had been so much easier when she was stuck as a duck. Fakir hadn't been any closer to getting in her pants, but then, he hadn't really wanted to, either. He understood that the duck was part of her, just like Tutu was, but the girl, Ahiru – that was who had the unconquerable spirit and graceless enthusiasm that attracted him. Not to mention the body, though Tutu had had that, too. Had been more showy about it, even. Hmm… Maybe if he wrote –  
  
"Fakir!" Ahiru called. He got up, and opened the door to the study as she shouted again, "Fakir, come here for a minute!"  
  
"Just come here and tell me whatever it is!" He shouted back, grabbing his pen and scratching out that last bit more thoroughly so that she would only see the sweet part if she started reading over his shoulder like he knew she would. The paper soaked up the rich ink drop by drop, obscuring the earlier text from view.  
  
"I…" Ahiru paused. Fakir could picture her in his minds eye, wherever she was, biting her lip and shifting uncomfortable. "Just… Fakir, you need to come here, all right? I'm waiting!"  
  
Fakir glanced over his shoulder at the open door. He looked back at the page before him. His head dropped forward, his shoulders hunching in as he sighed. Fakir reached up and put the pen back on the desk. Then he got to his feet, and walked slowly through the door.  
  
"I'm in your room," Ahiru said as he entered the hallway. A small stream of light trickled through the open door down the hall. Fakir rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck left and right as he approached the door.  
  
Fakir pushed the door open, and stopped breathing.  
  
"Surprise," she said softly.  
  
'Surprise' didn't even begin to cover it.    
  
Fakir pinched himself. It sort of stung, and the vision before him didn't fade away as he had expected it to. His jaw dropped, and he stared, blinking.  
  
Ahiru sat on his bed, her hair turned loose from its usual ponytail, catching the gleam of sunset coming in through his window. She leaned against the window sill, her chest pushed forward just a little bit as her back arched to make the position comfortable. Her legs were curled in front of her at odd angles, and she smiled, timidly.  
  
Fakir didn't notice any of that at first, though. What he noticed were her clothes, or lack thereof. Ahiru wore a long white garment that might have been reminiscent of Tutu if it hadn't been so very sheer. It was slit all the way up the front, only came together just at the center of her chest – her nearly bare, almost indecently low-cut and tightly clothed chest. She had even draped the extra net-cloth around her so that he could see her panties.  
  
His jaw dropped, and he paled, but immediately, he grew hard. Fakir blushed, dropping his eyes to the floor in the corner and trying to think polite thoughts. Sexy Ahiru. Sex  _with_  Ahiru. Sex with sexy –  
  
He blushed an even brighter red, and turned toward the door.  
  
"Fakir?" Ahiru said just as he was about to leave. He couldn't walk away, not when she spoke in that way, soft and hoping and just a bit afraid she'd offended him. He stopped. Behind him, there was a rustling of fabric, and then her arms were wrapped around him, clinging to his chest, and her voice whispered in his ear, "Fakir, I've been reading what you write. At least, the parts that you don't burn right away. I know you want this. And… and I want it, too, so even if you don't want it a lot, if you just would do it for me, I –"  
  
He shifted in her embrace, turning to look down at her. The part of his mind that wasn't completely filled with the pounding of his heart and the rush of blood looked at Ahiru. He saw only her eyes, looking pleadingly up at him, and that was all it took for Fakir to lean down push his lips against hers. Ahiru responded in kind, opening her mouth and flicking her tongue across his lips until he opened to her and they began an intricate pas de deux.  
  
She grabbed the collar of his shirt, and began pulling him with her as she stepped back across the floor, closer to the bed. Fakir wrapped his arms around Ahiru. The fabric of her gown was soft, so soft beneath his fingers as he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, her legs wrapping around him. She shifted against him, sending a jolt through him at the friction. He put her down, and stripped his shirt off, efficiently pulling it over his head. He paused as he hooked his fingers at the waist of his pants, feeling the weight of Ahiru's stare upon him, and looked at her.  
  
"Let me," she said, shifting to kneel on the bed and placing her hands over his.  
  
"Ahiru…" The word fumbled awkwardly out Fakir's mouth. Ahiru leaned up to him and kissed him. She kissed as naturally as she breathed, warm and gentle and distracting but too wonderful to be worth worrying about. Ahiru stopped, leaning against his chest, and Fakir suddenly noticed a slight draft.  
  
"Help me?" she asked, not looking down at him yet but instead shifting her legs from beneath her, lying on her back. She grabbed one of his hands as she went, pulling him onto the bed with her, and guided it to the center of her chest. The clasp on her garment sprung open at the slightest urging. Fakir brushed the left side of the garment away, watching as she writhed on the bed under his feather light touch against her breast. His left hand came forward and pushed the other half of the garment away as lightly.  
  
Ahiru was beautiful, lying before him in nothing but her panties, his hands against her breasts and her hips rocking needily up at him as her head dropped back, her mouth slightly open and drawing only shaking breaths. Fakir wanted –  _needed_  – to tell her that, but the thoughts were tripping over themselves in his head and none of them were quite right and if she made that noise again he was going to be embarrassed because he wouldn't even make it inside her before he came.  
  
"Fakir…" she moaned, and it was so much better than he had imagined it would be. "Please Fakir? Help…"  
  
She thrust her hips demandingly up at him, and knowing what to do was more instinct than anything else. He ran his hands down her body, feeling her smooth skin beneath his fingers – soft without being downy, and warm as the rest of her – and pulled off her last layer of clothing without another glance.  
  
Poised over her finally –  _finally_  – naked body, he wanted to ask if she was sure, if she was ready, if she knew what it was going to be like, if she knew how much it meant to him that she wanted this that they could be together like this that –  
  
The look in Ahiru's eyes as she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down and into her, fumbling by feel, answered all the questions he'd ever had.  
  
She inhaled sharply as he slid into her, the dampness of her flesh smoothing his way. Fakir cursed his forgetfulness but could no more stop from entering her any more than a flood could stop from overflowing a dam. At last inside, he lingered, entranced by her warmth, her tightness, and the look in her eyes as he waited for her to adjust to him, and suddenly – he understood. In a fairy tale, she might have been a princess and a sheath to a knight and his sword, perhaps. They were more than a fairy tale, though, and he had never been a knight to make her a queen. No, he was a writer, and Ahiru – she was the inkwell, the point from which he drew his inspiration, stroke by stroke.  
  
"Fakir…" She moaned at last, exhaling in a great sigh. Her hands tightened against his back, fingers clawing at his skin as she wriggled beneath him, rocking her hips again in encouragement. "Fakir… I want…"  
  
She trailed off into a series of incomprehensible little noises and writhed even more beneath him.  
  
"I know," he mumbled, and began to move. Fakir let himself become lost in the motion, the warmth, the scent, and her eyes, holding back only enough to wait until he heard her cry his name before letting himself go completely and losing all sensation in a heady rush of blood.  


 

~

  
  
"Fakir?" Ahiru said afterwards, as they lay on the bed together. Ahiru was cradled in Fakir's arms, her long hair draped over their bodies the only covering they wanted or needed.  
  
"What?" Fakir asked, rubbing his chin against the top of her head to keep it against his chest. He felt rather then saw her smile.  
  
"Being with you like this is so much better than one of your stories," she said.  
  
Fakir only laughed.


End file.
